


Bulletproof Kink

by Rubynye



Category: DC Comics
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not the fucking Angel of Death."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bulletproof Kink

**Author's Note:**

> So, after I thought I'd missed the most recent [](http://community.livejournal.com/dc_flashfiction/profile)[**dc_flashfiction**](http://community.livejournal.com/dc_flashfiction/) challenge (and technically, I have) I wrote this, based on a comment by [](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[**petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/). *wave to her*.
> 
> Title: Bulletproof Kink  
> Fandom: DC Comics  
> Characters/Pairing: Robins III/Robin IV, also Nightwing  
> Rating: PG-ish for implied violence, mostly.   
> Summary: "I'm not the fucking Angel of Death."  
> All thanks to: [](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[**maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) for audiencing and [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[**brown_betty**](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/) for diligent beta reading.   
> Disclaimer: I love the Robins dearly, and none of them are mine.

Tim would have liked to have reached eighteen, but it was his choice to be Robin; it's certainly been a full life, if not an excessively happy one. He thinks this, somewhat surprised he can still think, since his body's shutting down to the point that he can't feel the bullet wound anymore, or the debris on top of him. There's nothing left but cold numbness and certainty. This is it, and there are people he would've liked to see one last time, but at least Dick is safe.

One moment there's nothing; the next moment there's Steph. Steph in her Robin suit, bright against the darkness. Steph with her sunny hair and her grin between Robin-red lips. Steph with her hands on her hips. "Get up, sweetie."

He didn't expect her, though maybe he should have. "I don't think I can." He still can't move. He must not be quite dead yet.

He almost wishes he could hurry it up when she shakes her head, wisps of hair tossing exactly the way he remembers. "Get up, asshole," she says lovingly. "You're not dying today."

Tim laughs, though it doesn't feel like humor, just logic. "The fact that you're here would indicate otherwise."

Steph laughs, and in the tight suit, her curves outlined by armor, she looks magnificent. "I'm not the fucking angel of death, Tim. How many times do I have to tell you to get up?" She reaches down and strokes his cheek with one gauntleted hand.

The simplest way to describe it, Tim somehow thinks, is that his skin catches fire, from her touch outward, until he gasps, until he moans. Of all the ways he might have expected dying to feel, he wouldn't ever have thought of erotic. But this is like those goodnight kisses after successfully busy nights, with Steph's waist sleek between his hands and her palms damp and hot on his face, when he was flushed beneath the cool armor of his suit and desperately hard inside his jock. There were times he almost asked her to sleep with him. There've been times he wishes he had.

Above him, Steph is still smiling, still Robin-bright. Her gauntlet feels exactly like a Robin gauntlet should, but it feels different, because it's made to fit her hand. Her lenses are cloudy-white, and Tim wishes he could see her eyes just this once. He tries to say so but he just moans again, incoherent and irrational.

She seems to know anyway, because her lenses disappear, and her eyes are warm and blue and calm. Her cheek is delicate pink under the smooth thick material of the mask, and he reaches up towards it.

Then the pain slams back into him.

He must be awake, because Steph's gone and the left side of his chest is crushed with pain. He hears a shocking wheezing noise, loud and high, and realizes it's the sound of his own breathing.

But his right arm's free, hand clutching at nothing. Shoving at the broken beam across his body makes Tim's chest hurt like being shot all over again, makes him scream through his clenched teeth, but over the roar of blood in his ears he hears "get up!" echo in his head; he sucks in as deep a breath as he can force his searing chest to allow him and pushes again.

Vertigo and a blinding pulse of agony, and his strength gives out. Tim allows himself one more scream out of frustration, but it emerges pathetically faint on a wheeze, and not even his free arm will move.

The beam does, though, up and off Tim, as he hears a whispered, "Oh, God." Dick came back for him. He ought to be more annoyed.

"Shhh." Dick presses hard on his shoulder, which is the sensible thing to do and hurts like _hell_. Still, Tim's lucid enough to keep from screaming in Dick's face. Really. He bites his lip and clenches his right hand and shoves the scream down to a whimper.

That means he gets to hear the pained noise Dick just swallowed. "Hey," Dick says, words even, voice trembling. "Hey, Robin. I've got you. You did great. I've got you now. Just breathe. It's okay. You'll be okay."

Tim's head feels infinitely heavy, but he manages to nod; behind his eyes, there's a last flash of red-yellow-green, of a lipstick-framed grin. Then there's just darkness, but now it feels neither empty nor permanent, anymore.


End file.
